ashes

"i didn't mean to hurt you
i just want to show you i'm the boss"

(she asked me, "what the fuck is that on your face?"
your knuckles played shadows across my jaw,
across my chest;
your thumb matched up with so many more shadows across my throat.
"what, the kind you like, or the other kind?")

i don't know
i don't know
i don't know

i wished for this, a hades
i wanted to be punished, wanted
to walk through hell being tortured every inch i dared to take
wanted to sacrifice my happiness
to prove something to him
prove anything at all to him:
that i was strong, maybe
that i was a damsel in distress, persephone,
trapped underneath roots and layers of ancient stone
so that he would feel the need to come rescue me

how sick

it didn't even hurt that much
my shaman eyes knew what was coming and settled on
an offered joint (or two) and half a box of wine
i would've felt bad for breaking my sobriety had nothing happened
so maybe it was good that it did
i just needed that validation

but now i don't know what i need.
and i don't know where to go
if i'm not heading down his street again
so i know
i'll go
right
back
to
him.












after all, i didn't just cut because i was sad. i need a source of pain in my life. the more the better. and now as i'm slowburning over an open flame for wanting him still so much my new him will be making me feel every inch of that desire in a physical expression. telling me no. maybe i'll learn. trading one pain for another. and he'll keep hurting me because i'll keep fighting back. and eventually, ashes, ashes, we'll all    fall    down.